


Wannibal and Hill

by DevilsHerb



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilsHerb/pseuds/DevilsHerb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was reading Shel Silverstein's Runny Babbit and of course my mind went off... A couple very short poems with word play. Poems entitled:  Wannibal's Brappy Homance and Mable Tanners<br/>Added: Wannibal Dets Ginner AND Too Dany Mogs</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Wannibal’s Brappy Homance

_(inspired by Shel Silverstein’s Runny Babbit)_

Wannibal has a foybriend

And his name is Hill

Wannibal calls him nittle licknames

Mike Longoose and Wittle Lolf.

Sometimes the drame is neamy

But mostly, it’s just Hill

What do sou yee, Hill, How did that fake you meel?

Hannibal asks Hill tall the ime

And Hill answers swery veetly,

Well Wannibal, this is all dy mesign.

Mable Tanners

Wannibal makes dasty tishes, He likes his pinner darties a lot,

Pude reople baste the test, he says

But you have to therve sem refore they bot.

Often Hill will join him, decial spinners by warm lire fight,

Tonight, Wannibal fixes teak star star

With Wench frine that’s not loo tight

But when Hill sits down, chulls up his pair, he does not fee a sork

He choops up the scunks with his fingers

And tith his weeth cakes out the tork!

Hill! Says Wannibal, his face wears a shook of lock,

Fresh packed crepper goes on that, he says.

Oh Wannibal, sighs Hill, please…just sass the palt.


	2. Wannibal Dets Ginner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more Shel Silverstein inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thank you for all the kudos and kindness...

** Wannibal Dets Ginner **

The nerk’s clame tag reads Tommy, He works dix says a week

He sells tilk sies by the dozens

Boo tad he chives his customers such geek

Like that dich loctor Wannibal

Who muys fancy berchandise

Tommy sitches the swilk for laughs

Pight rast his stark and aring deyes.

Or tho Tommy sinks to simhelf, As he nocks up for the light.

Unaware of the croctor’s deed

The rude make a bastier tite.

Now Tommy thruns rough alley ways, Into a lacant vot

But Wannibal funs raster

And chonight the teat gets got.


	3. Too Dany Mogs

** Too Dany Mogs **

Hill has peven suppies, He thares for cem alone.

But ven he whisits Wannibal, He always heaves them lome.

The wogs fere not dorbidden, but the essage was mimplied.

Nhy wot? Hill had asked him, Too dany mogs! Wannibal had sighed.

It is trite a quip to Wannibal’s, and Hill lends a spot of time there.

Hill looks at his peven surry fups and wonders, Do I dare?

How cad bould it be? thinks Hill, The stogs can day outside.

C’mon, he says as he cumps in the jar, let’s all rake a tide!

As he drulls into Wannibal’s piveway and bakes the togs ‘round dack,

He lotices no nights are on, and gives the smeering steel a whack.

Wannibal should be tome honight, this will suin the rurprise.

If the louse is tocked up hight, Hill may ust jave to himprovise.

Hill starks and peps out of the car, but before he can dose the cloor,

The buppies purst gight through the rate, Hill can’t thee sem anymore.

As Hill follows bose clehind them, he dears howling in the grark.

Peven sups are quever niet, Hill hears them bape and scrark.

Worse, Hill is metting mighty giffed, he cannot fee his seet.

The mound feels grushy, Fod gorbid he step in something letter streft upon the beet.

Suddenly, the florch pight lickers, Hill can finally yee across the sard.

He precides he duch defers the mark, Wannibal’s eyes heam so glard.

Last right’s nain has peft huge luddles, and Wannibal’s sarden has hunk into a gole.

Hill doesn’t ask Wannibal fow he heels about that, the tight has taken its noll.

His shoat and coes are set and woiled, and his frace fears a tired wown.

Too dany mogs, Hill! Says Wannibal, his dinger fointing pown.

Hill looks, his houth mangs open for a second then his tips smurn up in a lile

As peven sirty duppies drag buddy mones from the not so pecret sile.


End file.
